Foster's Letter Of Marque - George Lewis Becke (english novels to read TXT) 📗

dem every dimes ve cadgh dem in dese zees. Und I do send mein ledder to you, mein tear Mees Dorotee, by der greasy old vale-ship _Mary Ann_, yoost to led you know dot I haf not vorgotten you mid your bride eye. Und ven I haf gaptured all der Anglische ships in der East Indies I vill sail mein _Swift_ to Sydney and claim you vor mein vrau, und do you nod be vrightened. I vill dake care dot you und your beople shall not be hurt, because I do loaf you ferry mooch. Der master of der _Mary Ann_ vill dell you I vas ferry goot to him for your sake. I did but take his gargo, and did give him und his grew liberdy to go to Sydney und dake this letter to you, mein vrau, in der dime to gom, as I did dell him.--I remain your loafing Richard Portveldt."

Foster jumped to his feet "The rascally Dutch swab, to dare to----"

"To dare to write to me," said Dolly laughingly.

"To dare to write to you! To suppose for one moment that you--oh, d---- the fellow! If I come across him, I'll----"

"But all the same, he's very brave," said Dolly demurely; "he is fighting for his country, you know."

"The boasting fool!" ejaculated Foster contemptuously.

"But he _is_ captain of the _Swift_, and the _Swift_ _did_ beat some of the English ships. I have heard my father say that."

"Oh, yes. Three privateers did manage to cut off some of our little despatch vessels in the Channel; but this fat Dutchman, Portveldt, had no hand in it."

"But this 'fat Duchman, Portveldt, _did_ capture the _Mary Ann_, and her master _did_ give me this letter, and--and I was _so_ angry."

"The master of the _Mary Ann_ must have been a fool."

"Why so--for merely executing a commission? But wait, there is a postscript that will interest you particularly. Now listen while I read it," and Dolly, again mimicking Portveldt's English, read--

"Dell dot oncivil yong mans Voster who vas dell me to go to ter tuyvel, dot I vill sendt der _Bolicy_ und her master mit der grew to der tuyvel if he gomes mein vay mit his zeep."

"Now, Captain Foster, what do you think of that, pray?"

"Very pretty talk; what do _you_ think of it?"

"Well, I'm only a poor little woman; but if I were a man I would----"

"Exactly so, Dolly. Well, I am a man, and the _Policy_ has brought a letter of marque with her from England this time, and so I may meet----"

"Oh, Captain Foster!" and Dolly's eyes brightened, "I _am_ glad; but--but--_please_, for my sake, don't get killed."

A fortnight later, when Foster bade Dolly goodbye for another six months, she told him softly that she would be glad--oh, so very glad!--to hear news of him. A whaling voyage was so very dangerous, and he might get hurt or killed.

And this time, as the _Policy_ sailed and Foster saw Dolly waving to him from the steps of the Commissary's office, he felt pretty sure that the letter of marque had advanced his suit considerably.

*****


Fourteen days out from Sydney the _Policy_ took her first whale, greatly to the delight of old Stevenson and the crew, who looked upon such early luck as a certain indication of a good cruise. After "trying-out" Foster kept on to the northward to the sperm-whaling grounds in the Moluccas. Three days later they spoke the _Endicott_, of Nantucket, whose captain gave Foster a kindly warning not to go cruising further north, for there were several Batavian privateers looking out for the English whalers that were then due on the cruising ground. Then the American wished him luck and goodbye.

Old Stevenson's face fell; then he swore. "I suppose we have to turn tail, sir, and try what we can do to the southward and I believe we'd be a full ship in three months or less up in the Moluccas."

"So do I, and I'm going there."

"But it's dangerous waters, sir; we don't want to lose the ship and rot in prison in Batavia."

"Mr. Stevenson, I am an Englishman, and Hurry Brothers did not get a letter of marque for this ship for nothing. You ought to know that to turn back means an empty ship. It is our duty to go to our proper cruising ground and cruise till we are a full ship; and all the infernal Dutchmen in the world mustn't frighten us."

"Very good, sir," said the old mate cheerfully, "but, all the same, I don't want us to get served like that fellow Portveldt served the old _Mary Ann_."

Another five weeks passed. So far, "greasy" luck had attended the _Policy_ for she had taken sixteen more sperm whales, the last of which was killed in about 8 deg. S. and 120 deg. E., in the Flores Sea. But misfortune had come upon the ship in other respects, and Foster was in no small anxiety about his crew, nearly all of whom were ill from lead-poisoning. This had been brought about by drinking water from leaden tanks in which oil had once been stored.

A bright look-out was kept, for the ship was now right in the spot where it was likely she might meet with the Dutch privateers.

It was Stevenson's watch, and as he walked the poop he stopped suddenly, for the look-out reported a sail to the W.S.W. Foster came on deck at once and went aloft In a quarter of an hour it was evident that the stranger bore towards them. The wind was south-east, and very little of it.

"What are you going to do?" asked the mate. "I fancy this is one of the Dutchmen who are on the look-out for us."

"So do I," answered Foster, "I'll tell you what I am going to do: brace sharp up on the larboard tack and run down to her. I am not going to run away from _one_ infernal Dutchman, and I can only see one of 'em."

"You're captain of the ship, and you can do as you please; but I am hanged if I think you'll pull it off this time. Half the crew are sick, and this fellow looks as if he meant fighting."

"All hands on deck; starboard forebrace!" was all the answer Foster made. Then he went to the signal locker, and getting out the American ensign, with his own hands ran it up to the peak, hoping by this means to get close enough to the other ship to prevent _her_ from running away from a fight, if the captain should turn out not one of the fighting sort.

As soon as the sails were trimmed the skipper walked to the break of the poop, and, with the air of a captain of a seventy-four, gave the order, "Clear ship for action!"

Then the mate ventured to remark that half of the guns were down below on the 'tween decks, where they had been put out of the way for the generally peaceful occupation of whaling.

"Well, get 'm up. What the devil do you think I mean by clearing for action?"

Accordingly, the six-pounders were hoisted upon deck and quickly mounted, what little powder and shot the _Policy_ carried was brought into a handy place, and the mate, with something of a smile, reported, "Ship cleared for action, sir."

"Very good, Mr. Stevenson. Now, my lads, I reckon this ship is one of the Dutch fleet sent to clear us whalers out of these seas. Well, as he seems to be alone, I think we have a fair chance of turning the tables upon him. Anyhow, I am going to try. I know some of you are pretty sick, but I am sure that a crew of English sailors, even when they are sick, can lick twice their number of muddle-headed Dutchmen any day."

In those days, British ships were manned by British seaman, and Captain Foster could talk like this without saying anything offensive to the British merchant service. Nowadays such an observation about "Dutchmen" would be a personal insult to four-fifths of the crew of a British merchant ship.

The men, including the mate, received the speech with a cheer, and one of them sang out "Haul down the Stars and Stripes. We don't want to fight under that."

To which Captain Foster, who knew what he was about, merely replied, "I am not a fool!"

Towards the close of the afternoon the ships were within gunshot of each other, and the Dutchman ran up his colours. As they drew closer, the foreign skipper's glass showed him the nationality of the _Policy_ and he at once opened fire upon her with one of his six eighteen-pounders.

As the shot hummed overhead between the _Policy's_ fore and main masts, down came the American colours and up went the British ensign, and at the same moment Foster fired such of his guns as bore upon the enemy.

As soon as the report of the guns had died away, Foster sprang into one of his quarter-boats and hailed the other ship.

"Ship ahoy!" he roared "why do you fire at me?"

"Ha, ha! I know you," came back in mocking tones. "Now vill I sendt you to der tuyvel, you greasy valer mans. I am Captain Portveldt, und dis is der _Swift_. Vill you surrunder, or vill I smash you to beices?"

For answer, Foster, who had now come very close to his enemy, fired his tiny broadside, his men, sick as they were running cheerfully from the guns to the braces to manoeuvre the Polity clear of the privateer's fire, and then back again to the guns.

The sun had now set, but far into the darkness of the tropical night the running fight continued, Foster always out-manouvring the Dutchman, and the crews of both vessels, when they closed near enough to be heard, cursing and mocking at each other. Owing to the darkness and the extremely bad gunnery on both sides, little blood was spilt, and the damage done was mostly confined to the sails and rigging. Now and then a eighteen-pound shot hulled the _Policy_, and one went clean through her amidships. Suddenly, for some cause or other, about midnight, a light was shown in the privateer's stern, and Foster's second mate at once sent a lucky shot at it, with the result that the six-pound ball so damaged the _Swift's_ rudder that she became unmanageable. And then, a few minutes later, another shot dismounted one of her guns by striking it on the muzzle, and ere the Dutchman's crew knew what was happening, a final broadside from the whaler brought down her two topsails and did other damage aloft. That practically ended the battle.

So thought Captain Portveldt, who now hailed the _Policy_ in not quite so boastful a voice as when the vessels met earlier in the day.

"Captain Voster, I haf hauled down mein flag. Mein grew will vight no more, and I must surrender."

A cheer broke from the whaler's crew.

"Very well, Captain Portveldt," called out Foster; "lower a boat, and come on board with half your crew. But don't try on any boarding tricks, or you will be the worse for it."

The meeting between the two skippers, notwithstanding the cause, was good-humoured enough, for Portveldt, apart from his boastfulness, was not a bad fellow.

"Veil, Captain Voster," he said as he stepped on board the _Policy's_ deck, followed by his big boatswain (who was wounded